


Always a Lady, in Spite of Hell

by rosefox



Category: The Aristocats (1970)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Coincidences, Gen, Kittens, Paris (City), Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:26:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosefox/pseuds/rosefox
Summary: How Duchess got out, and got back in.





	Always a Lady, in Spite of Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



1.

How Duchess got out: through an open window. She smelled the air of freedom and wanted to see the world. She mostly wasn't sorry, later.

2.

How Duchess got her kittens: well, the usual way. A handsome fellow, a dimly lit nightclub redolent of catnip, a bit of yowling, and some weeks of increasing discomfort and voracious hunger, and then there they were, three little squinch-eyed mites curled up on a scrap of newsprint in the cardboard box that Duchess called home.

One was black and one was ginger and one was white. Duchess licked them all and curled up around them and sighed. The Paris night was warm and soft, and the moon shone somewhere up above the gas lamps. Motor cars coughed and growled their way over the cobblestones, noxious fumes filling the air before the spring breeze dispersed them. Someone strummed a guitar, and someone else knocked over a bottle and laughed as it shattered.

She named the kittens Night and Lamp and Moon, because she was a poet but not always terribly imaginative. She licked them again, and guided them to nurse, and hoped she could scavenge enough food to keep her milk flowing.

3.

How Duchess got food: by blinking her big blue eyes at anyone who seemed likely to give her some. Her first haunt had been Rue Vivienne, but she left after a big scarred tabby took over the local colony, and now her beat was up and down Rue Montorgueil. For every café owner and scullery maid who shouted and waved brooms at her, there was another who was a soft touch.

Rue Montorgueil was also home to a thriving family of some hundreds of mice, and Duchess, being a friendly sort and also (it must be confessed) a little squeamish about eating mice unless she was really desperate, had befriended a few of the older mouse ladies. She left one of them in charge of the kittens—hardly larger than mice themselves, and not yet able to move around much—and went to meow at the back door of Rôtisserie Heloïse.

"Celeste, it's that damned cat," someone shouted inside. The door banged open and Heloïse's oldest daughter, Celeste, came hurrying out, wiping her hands on her apron.

"There you are," she cooed. "I was getting worried. —Oh, you've had your kittens!"

Duchess mewed pathetically and rolled onto her back to show off her saggy belly and leaky teats.

"You must be famished," Celeste said. "I know I was after I had mine! Let me see if I can coax a few fish heads from Maman."

She went back inside. Duchess settled on a crate and groomed herself. Rolling around on the street was an unfortunate necessity of the begging life, but she liked to be clean.

The discussion from within Heloïse's became heated; Duchess could hear Heloïse saying something about "useless" and "a waste," and Celeste protesting, "She keeps the mice away!" This was true. Duchess had promised several of the mouse ladies first pick of her snow-white sheddings, which they liked to crochet with, if they took their families elsewhere for snacks and left Heloïse's grain stores alone. Many of Rue Montorgueil's mouselings now sported handsome little white caps and scarves.

At last Celeste returned with not one but two fish heads, which reeked so potently that even stingy Heloïse could not possibly have found a place for them in one of her pots of soup. "I must go back," she said, breathless, "but here, take these! Bonne chance, chérie!"

Duchess, shameless, devoured one fish head then and there before bringing the other back to her box. Night squeaked plaintively at her approach, and Lamp and Moon soon took up the call. She nodded to Mme. Camembert, dropped the fish head, and stretched out. "You may have a scrap if you like," she said as the kittens settled in.

"Thank you," Mme. Camembert said, gathering her crocheting, "but I am a vegetarian. Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," Duchess said. She dozed as the kittens nursed, enjoying the scent of the fish head as it filled their box, enjoying having a full belly and some food still left for later. Once that had been ordinary and unremarkable in her life, but those days were done, and she was glad to count her little joys.

4.

How Duchess got acquainted with Georges: through a rather informal introduction. She was sprawled behind Heloïse's, patiently gnawing all the bits of cheese off the wax rind that Celeste had tossed her way, when the door opened and Celeste came out sobbing into her apron, followed by a stooped, elderly man who jauntily knocked the door closed with his cane.

"Now, now, my dear," he said comfortingly. "No man can be worth all this weeping. If he's foolish enough to leave you then he's not worth a moment of your time or worry."

"But David and little Georges," she wailed. "How will I provide for them?"

"Psh!" the old man said. "Heloïse will feed them, and I'll see they're clothed and schooled."

"Maman says it's all my fault for not being a better wife," Celeste said, sniffling.

The man handed her his handkerchief. She blew her nose. "Your mother has gone through three husbands," he said, "and that she did it by outliving them rather than driving them off was only a matter of coincidental timing. She loves your little boys like life itself. Whatever she thinks of you and your situation, she'll never deny them a thing they need."

Duchess abandoned the cheese rind and came over to rub on Celeste's ankles. Celeste crouched down and stroked her. "Now I am like you, chérie," she said, "alone with my children and dependent on the kindness of others."

"Well now, who's this?" the old man said. "She's a beauty. Bonjour, madame, my name is Georges." He stretched out a gnarled hand, which Duchess sniffed politely, and then scratched her under the chin. She liked him immediately.

"She doesn't have a name," Celeste said. (Duchess felt a little miffed. Celeste might not know her name, but she certainly had one. In fact, just in her months on the streets, she'd had several dozen.) "I just call her chérie. Maman doesn't like it when I feed her, but the poor thing turned up on the doorstep with a big belly, and how could I send her away? And she's just had her kittens a few weeks ago, so she's here all the time now. I expect she'll start bringing them with her soon."

"Kittens, eh?" Georges braced his cane on the ground and straightened up with a groan. "My friend Adelaide has been knocking about her house all alone since her cat ran away. Perhaps she'd like a few kittens, especially if they're all as elegant as their mother."

Duchess sat up straight, swept her tail around her feet (it was a little bedraggled but that couldn't be helped), and gave him her best blue stare. "Prrrt?" she said hopefully.

"Ha ha! She knows a sucker when she sees one. Wise girl," he said, winking at her.

"Mrrrr," Duchess agreed, unruffled. Humans who talked to her like this usually enjoyed it when she talked back.

"And where are your kittens, ma belle? Not at the Hôtel de Crillon, I'll wager."

"She's got them stashed away behind Café Henri, in an old cabbage box," Celeste said. Duchess tilted her head, impressed. She hadn't known Celeste had scouted her out.

"Dreadful place, Café Henri," Georges said, shaking his head. "Had the worst indigestion after eating there. Never again. No wonder she comes begging over here. I wouldn't eat their scraps either!"

"Grandpère!"

"Oh, pardon me, mustn't insult your neighbors, eh?" Georges laughed, unrepentant. "Let's go find this box and these kittens. And when we do a good deed for others, it will come back to us."

Celeste smiled, wiping away the last of her tears, and let Duchess lead the way.

5.

How Duchess got home: in the back of Georges's motor car, which rattled and stank and quite terrified the kittens. Lamp fluffed up and hissed, very proud of himself. Moon and Night hid entirely under Duchess's belly. Their lives had been all bewilderment, poor things. Three weeks in a cabbage box being nannied by mice. A week in the care of Georges's housekeeper, Clara, who washed them with lavender soap (it kept the fleas away but left the nastiest taste in Duchess's mouth when she groomed herself and the kittens, and she could never abide the scent of lavender afterwards) and so spoiled them all with warm milk and scraps of roast chicken that Duchess sometimes had to hiss at her to leave them _alone_ and let the kittens remember they weren't weaned yet. And now they were in a wicker carry case in a noisy contraption going who knew where.

The car stopped and they had a moment's pause before Georges said "Up we go!" and hefted the case. Duchess crouched low over the kittens—even brave Lamp had crept near—and murmured soothingly: "Hush, darlings. Whatever happens next, I'm with you, I'll take care of you, I'll keep you safe."

They passed through light and shadow and another voice, deep and smooth, said, "Please allow me to take that for you, sir." Their new porter was more steady than Georges but less gentle, and the case still rocked and swayed alarmingly. Duchess's hackles rose but she forced them down for the sake of the kittens, and crooned a little song to calm herself as well as them.

Above someone called, "Duchess? Is that you?"

Duchess knew that voice. That voice meant warmth and love and soft things and food, endless bountiful food. She lifted her head. "Mrowwwww?"

"Duchess!"

The case was placed on the floor and someone opened it, and Duchess forgot all about her kittens and leapt into Madame's waiting arms. Madame was crying, and Duchess nuzzled her cheek and purred and purred. It wasn't right for Madame to cry. Humans had everything—milk, blankets, houses, thumbs. They should be happy, always.

Madame buried her face in Duchess's fur. "Georges, you wonderful man, however did you find her?"

"Well, I had no idea she was your cat!" Georges exclaimed. 

"Surely you knew my Duchess!"

"They all look alike to me," Georges said, shrugging. "But she was behind Heloïse's restaurant and Celeste said she had kittens, and I thought you might want—"

"Kittens!" Madame frowned. "Duchess, that was hardly proper."

Duchess fixed Madame with a stare. She had followed the call of the night air and found wild love on the streets of Paris, and now she was a queen with three beautiful kittens. For a cat of her looks and years, this was entirely proper. Shame had no place in her heart.

Madame relented. "You poor thing, you were in trouble and couldn't find me," she said tenderly. Duchess felt this was an acceptable interpretation of the situation, especially as Madame was rubbing her under the chin. "But Georges, I hope you brought the whole family. It wouldn't do to separate children from their mother."

"Here we are!" the kittens piped up from the basket. "Here we are, here we are! Maman, where did you go?"

Duchess gave Madame a last head-butt and jumped down. Carefully, scruff by scruff, she lifted the kittens out of the case and nudged them into something resembling a presentable line. Moon sat daintily, tail around her feet, a perfect little copy of her mother. Night was eager to explore this new place, and Duchess had to surreptitiously step on his tail to keep him from running off. Lamp couldn't decide whether to hiss or hide, but he smelled Madame's perfume on Duchess and decided she was probably all right.

"Such tiny angels." Madame gave them her fingertips to sniff. "You must all stay here, of course. Duchess, no more escaping! Three little ones is quite enough. And I missed you dreadfully, my darling."

Duchess pretended to be abashed. Truthfully, she was quite glad to be back.

And she was ravenous. "Mow," she hinted.

"How I've missed that sound! Edgar, a dish of last night's fish stew for Duchess, please. I don't think the kittens are ready for proper food yet, but she must be so hungry."

"Of course, madame."

" _I'm_ big enough to eat fish stew," Night declared.

"But I'm not," Moon said primly, "and ladies go first."

"You're not a lady!" Lamp scoffed. "Maman is a lady. You're just a kitten."

"Children, please," Duchess said. "Do not bicker in front of Madame. Don't you remember the stories I told you about her? She will provide enough food for everyone—when you are old enough, which you are not—and lovely soft places to sleep, and all she asks is that we have good manners."

"What's manners, Maman?" Lamp said.

"It means sitting still and looking adorable," said Moon, who had paid close attention to Duchess's bedtime stories about a magical place where humans were kind and no one was ever hungry or cold. She sat up straight and fluttered her eyelashes. "Like this."

"What a little lady!" Madame said, stroking her head with a forefinger. "You remind me of my old friend Marie Rôze. She has a beautiful soprano voice and splendid posture, just like you. Shall I call you Marie?"

"If you like," Moon said. She'd only just figured out what names were, and they didn't really matter to her one way or another.

"The others need names too," Georges put in. "I've been calling the ginger one Toulouse-Lautrec ever since he got into the laundry bluing and painted it all over the kitchen. Toulouse for short."

"Oh yes, that's much too long a name for a little kitten," Madame said.

Lamp had gotten up onto a table with a vase and carefully severed a half-dozen daisy heads from their stems. He paused in arranging them to protest, "I'll be big someday!"

"Oh dear, my flowers! Duchess, you must keep your children in line." Madame gently scooped him up and put him back next to Duchess, who firmly planted a paw on him and groomed him—how did his neat fur always turn to tufts as soon as she looked away? "And where is the other one?"

A clicking sound drew their attention to Night, who was walking across the piano keyboard. He wasn't heavy enough to depress the keys, but he tapped them inquisitively with his nails, wondering what they were and what they did.

"A musician!" Georges said. "Bizet? Verdi?"

"I will call him Berlioz," Madame said. "I was listening to the _symphonie fantastique_ when you brought Duchess home, and now it will always make me think of that moment of joy when I heard her voice again."

Many hours later, full of fish stew and weary from a long afternoon of rubbing her scent all over the house, Duchess was curled up on her old favorite hearthrug, the kittens snoozing by her side. "Excuse me," a small voice said. 

She opened one eye and saw a little mouse peeking out of a hole in the baseboard. He was wearing a tiny crocheted white cap.

"Yes?" she said.

"Are you Duchess?"

"I am, yes, monsieur. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"The name's Roquefort. You know my mother—Madame Camembert?"

"Oh yes," Duchess said, brightening. "However did you find me here?"

Roquefort twitched his whiskers modestly. "I have some skill—just a little—in solving mysteries, finding missing people, that sort of thing. We're related to the famous Basil of Baker Street on my paternal grandfather's side, you know."

Duchess found it quite impossible to keep track of mouse genealogy, but she nodded politely. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Roquefort. Please convey to your mother that the kittens and I are well and happy."

"I will, I will." He looked around, a bit shyly. "Say, this is an awfully nice place. And there don't seem to be any mice living here just at the moment. And there's this lovely hole in the wall, just the right size. Do you think they'd mind...?"

"Not at all," said Duchess. "And I would be very happy to have a friend from Rue Montorgueil. Please, make yourself at home."

Roquefort doffed his cap and scurried off to investigate his new abode. Duchess closed her eyes again. What a day! She could never have imagined coming back to Madame in such a fashion. She had been entirely prepared to live out her days as an alley cat, balancing deprivation and fear with excitement and novelty. But even as she recalled the rough joys of street life, she knew she would be in no hurry to seek out another open window.

A log in the fireplace popped, and the kittens shifted a little bit against her. "I like it here, Maman," Marie said sleepily.

"Me too," Berlioz said. "Can we stay?"

"Of course we will stay," Duchess said. "This will be our home forever."

"When I'm big I want to go out and see the world like you did, Maman," Toulouse said.

"Oh no, my darling, I don't recommend it," Duchess said. "Don't you remember how cold we were in the cabbage box, and wet when it rained? And I was afraid for you, and hated needing to be apart from you. This is ever so much nicer—it is the best possible place for us to be."

"But I want adventures," Toulouse said, yawning.

"Me too," Berlioz said, forgetting that he had just asked to stay.

"Can ladies have adventures?" Marie asked hopefully.

Duchess admired their sweet faces and thought about how lonely and dull her life would have been if she'd always behaved herself and stayed inside, if she'd never met that tom and had her kittens and befriended mice and scullery maids. "There is something to be said for exploring, little ones," she said. "But for now, rest and eat, grow big and strong, make your art and sing your songs and learn who you are. Adventures can wait until you're ready for them."

They fell asleep together on the hearthrug, safe and warm and home.

6.

How the kittens got their adventure: the butler did it. But that's a story for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> Your prompt about Duchess as a kitten ended up taking me in an unexpected direction. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thanks to my anonymous beta for correcting my French! All remaining errors are mine alone.
> 
> I owe a debt of inspiration to the legendary Don Marquis and his poem ["mehitabel and her kittens"](http://donmarquis.com/reading-room/kittens/) (1927), which is also the source of the title. (TW on that link for mention of harm to cats.) I feel Mehitabel and Duchess would have understood each other.
> 
> Please support your local stray and feral cat colonies and the organizations that rescue them, give them medical care, and adopt them out.


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